


Recollect Me Darling, Raise Me to Your Lips

by sinfuldesire_archivist



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Drama, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-22
Updated: 2006-12-22
Packaged: 2018-09-03 05:51:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8699722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinfuldesire_archivist/pseuds/sinfuldesire_archivist
Summary: Dean's intent on corrupting Sam, but Sam knows what Dean wants and gets off on torturing him.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the Sinful Desire archivists: this story was originally archived at [Sinful-Desire.org](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Sinful_Desire). To preserve the archive, we began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2016. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Sinful Desire collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/sinfuldesire/profile).

**Title:** Recollect Me Darling, Raise Me to Your Lips  
 **Author/Artist:** [ ](http://keepaofthecheez.livejournal.com/profile)[**keepaofthecheez**](http://keepaofthecheez.livejournal.com/)  
 **Requestor:** [ ](http://notthequiettype.livejournal.com/profile)[**notthequiettype**](http://notthequiettype.livejournal.com/)  
 **Fandom:** Supernatural  
 **Pairing:** Sam/Dean  
 **Rating:** NC-17  
 **Wordcount:** 5, 842  
 **Warnings:** m/m sex, incest, underage (Sam’s 16), voyeurism, masturbation  
 **Summary/Prompt:** Dean’s intent on corrupting Sam, but Sam knows what Dean wants and gets off on torturing him.  
 **Disclaimer:** None of these characters belong to me. I’m just here to sex them up.  
 **A/N:** Wet, lickery kisses to [ ](http://technosage.livejournal.com/profile)[**technosage**](http://technosage.livejournal.com/), my partner in all that is awesome, for the fantastic beta and general brainstorming help. ♥  
Also, thanks to [ ](http://merepersiflage.livejournal.com/profile)[**merepersiflage**](http://merepersiflage.livejournal.com/), [ ](http://poisontaster.livejournal.com/profile)[**poisontaster**](http://poisontaster.livejournal.com/) and [ ](http://estrella30.livejournal.com/profile)[**estrella30**](http://estrella30.livejournal.com/) for cheerleading/not letting me delete this in a fit of anxious flailing.  
  
  
It wasn’t like Dean woke up one morning, sleepy and disoriented and thinking of how nice it might be to fuck his sixteen year old brother. It happened more gradually than that; he’d catch sight of Sam doing something totally harmless, like washing dishes on a warm summer night, and Dean wouldn’t be able to look away as those long, soapy fingers rubbed plastic and ceramic.  
  
Wouldn’t be able to stop imagining how it might feel were Sam to wrap his teenage hand around Dean’s cock and tug until Dean’s skin was chafed raw and over-sensitive and—  
  
Jesus.  
  
None of this had been an issue when Sam was still twelve and chubby and shadowing Dean’s every move like a frightened puppy. But suddenly, and without Dean ever really noticing how or why, his brother had sharpened – body and mind – and now Sam towered where he’d once skulked in the corner. Questioned where he’d once accepted blindly. He walked around seeming way too damn comfortable in his long limbs and burgeoning muscles, and if there was one weakness Dean _knew_ he had, it was confidence and a sexy body to go with it.  
  
The fact that the object of his newfound lust shared the same gene pool he waded in was just one of many worries. Not even touching on the whole, well, _gay thing_ …hell, Sam was barely even _legal_. And while Dean wasn’t generally one to worry about a thing like that – a little looking never hurt anyone – when coupled with the other issues, it all added up to One Huge Fucking Problem.  
  
Then there was the fact that Dean was supposed to be looking out for Sam, not having sick fantasies that involved heat and sweat and bending that oversized form across Sam’s blue-striped cotton sheets and showing him exactly what could be better than the muffled handjobs Dean sometimes caught wind of in the middle of the night. _That_ would be wrong on all counts, and even someone with morals as twisted and questionable as Dean Winchester’s couldn’t seem to work his way around that.  
  
He tried not to let it affect the way he treated Sam, tried to keep their relationship – and _Christ_ , but he hated the word – on the same footing it’d always stood on. This wasn’t Sam’s problem, after all, and Dean was a fair-minded individual.  
  
For the most part, he was successful, but then there were the other times. Times when he’d walk in from a hunt, hyped up on adrenaline and desperate for an outlet for all that raw energy and the first thing he’d be faced with would be Sam – all wide, concerned eyes and hands and dispensing that touchy-feely bullcrap that Dean could write a thesis of hate on. And during those times, Dean found it pretty damn hard to be fair.  
  
Like now for instance.  
  
“I just don’t see what the big deal is,” Sam whined, hands propped on his hips and bangs nearly obscuring dark, slanted eyes as he watched Dean in longsuffering exasperation. “I’ve stayed by myself plenty of times before. I’m a _big boy_ , Dean, I can handle it.”  
  
Dean refused to flinch at the chosen emphasis, or the other implications that had absolutely nothing to do with what his brother meant. He didn’t move at all in fact – except to cross both ankles on top of the cheap coffee table, dropping his voice to match Sam’s heated belligerence with cool-headed rationality. “Not about you being able to handle it,” he said, rolling his thumb in absent circles against his thigh. “S’bout us having a job to do and needing your help.”  
  
Instead of being flattered by the compliment, Sam’s face screwed up into a mask of teenage mutiny, an expression all too familiar as of late. When it came again, his voice was nearly dripping with disbelief. “You and Dad need _my_ help. To what?” Sam threw his hands up. “Keep the car warm?”  
  
 _Well, you’ve got the body to do it._  
  
Dean was a bit horrified by that first thought, and Jesus Christ, but he had problems if he'd started using lines on his baby brother – even if they were only in his head. Ignoring the trip in his chest, he flashed his teeth and stretched out in his chair. “C’mon, Sam. You’d just get bored, sitting around here all day with nothing but your right hand for company.”  
  
Now why the hell had he gone and said _that?_  
  
Sam blinked long, dusky lashes, and Dean didn’t think he was imagining the pink tinge to his brother’s cheeks. There was an awkward pause, and then Sam narrowed his eyes and muttered, “Jerk.”  
  
“Hey, it’s normal.” Dean tried to play it off the only way he knew how: exhausting the topic until Sam inevitably grew pissed off and stormed out. Or slugged him. Dean never really knew which one to expect these days. “You’re getting to that age now, Sammy, where it’s fun to explore and—”  
  
“Say another word and I’ll gut you with your own hunting knife.”  
  
Dean tried to appear affronted, but couldn’t help but laugh a little at the dark warning look on his brother’s face. _Score one for the home team_ , he thought, drawing a mental chalk mark in the air. “So, you’re coming, right?”  
  
Sam’s gaze narrowed. “Will you let me drive?”  
  
Of all the fucking ridiculous requests Dean could think of…But Sam was watching him, smirking and just _waiting_ for Dean to go off about how Sam was too young to drive his car and give Sam the ammunition he wanted. If he was too young for _that_ , then he was definitely too young to go chasing after the den of chupacabras terrorizing the locals.  
  
The problem was, Sam was too fucking sly for his own good. And judging by the triumphant spark in his sloe-eyed gaze, his baby brother damn well knew it, too.  
  
Dean’s lips pursed, pouting, and he experienced the most insane urge to grab Sam in a headlock and dunk him face-first in the toilet. Or…lick him. Right where his cheek dimpled so deep Dean was fucking _sure_ he could press the pad of his finger in and have room to spare.  
  
“We’ll talk about it later,” he grumbled, successfully distracted. Turning his gaze toward the television, he almost missed the flash of disappointment that darkened Sam’s features, but by the time he’d flicked his eyes back onto his brother Sam was looking smug and satisfied.  
  
“Whatever you say, Dean.”  
  
  
 

♥ ♥ ♥

  
  
  
“Careful,” Dean choked out, resisting the urge to throw himself bodily into the driver’s seat and save his car from the sacrileges Sam was currently inflicting upon her. When the gears ground together again, jerking them forward on the pebbled pavement, Dean’s knuckles went white. “Brake _first_ , Sam! Jesus!”  
  
“We should’ve just taken the Impala. Dad wouldn’t have cared.” Sam’s brow was furrowed when he let off the clutch, sending Dean a sour look. “And this’d be a lot easier if you weren’t here yelling at me.”  
  
“Why, so you could fucking throw the entire transmission? And I wouldn’t let you within five feet of the Chevy,” Dean snapped back, refusing to look as Sam’s tapered fingers stroked the gear shift when he put it in neutral again. There was something sublimely erotic about watching Sam drive a stick, the way his hands lingered and unconsciously caressed. The way the muscles in his thighs tightened with every press of his feet against the pedals. Even if he stalled out every five seconds, it was fucking hot.  
  
Not that Dean was thinking about that, sliding lower in his seat and covering his face with one hand. “Just lemme know before you run us into a goddamn tree or something.”  
  
“Oh, and I just bet you did this perfectly every time when _you_ were learning.”  
  
Dean looked between his fingers, frowning. “Well, yeah.”   
  
Sam sent him a smile that was anything but amused, deliberately taking his foot off the gas before disengaging the clutch. The car jerked, again, and Dean slapped his hands against the dashboard.  
  
“Okay, that’s it. Get the fuck out of my car before I make you walk home.” He was already half out the door himself, rounding the bumper and holding Sam’s gaze through the windshield. When he reached his brother’s side, Sam rolled down the window and stared back at him defiantly.  
  
“How am I supposed to learn then, genius?” he asked, hands loose and pliable around the wheel. Not that Dean was even looking there. No, he was way too wrapped up in the slide of Sam’s tongue across his lower lip before his brother added, “For a beginner, a manual’s really kind of inconvenient, you know.”  
  
_Yeah, well so’s my boner,_ Dean thought, jaw grinding. It was really just pretty fucking blasphemous that he was here lusting after Sam when his brother had nearly screwed up his most prized possession. Well, his _only_ prized possession. And then tried to distract Dean by using his…hands.   
  
Christ.  
  
“Shove over,” he muttered, elbowing Sam through the open window. “And don’t scuff the interior with your bigass Yeti feet.”  
  
Sam rolled his eyes, but moved over to the passenger side without comment. Dean slammed the door and immediately reached for the radio, turning it up and relaxing when the familiar strains of _Statesboro Blues_ came wailing through the speakers. Sam snorted, but remained silent as Dean shot him a warning look.   
  
After several moments of silent driving, Dean pulled into the gas station-cum-liquor store by the house, ignoring Sam’s questioning gaze and throwing the car in park. “Sit tight.” He reached into his back pocket and felt for the heavy weight of his wallet.   
  
A few minutes later, he returned to find Sam sprawled out in the front seat, tapping his fingers to some damn cookie-cutter alt rock song. Sam met his glare with a blinding grin, sitting up and stretching his arms up and out so that the hem of his shirt rucked up his belly. At the sight of that golden strip of skin, Dean immediately forgot whatever he’d been irritated about and threw the paper bag in Sam’s lap with an unintelligible grunt.  
  
The bag rustled as Sam pulled out the bottle of Captain Morgan’s, and then his brows rose so high they disappeared beneath the fringe of his hair. “Dean?” There was a wealth of disparagement coloring Sam’s voice, and Dean made a face and shifted into reverse.  
  
“What?” he asked, smirking a little as he slid a glance Sam’s way. “I even got some of that fruity drink you like to mix it with.”  
  
Sam eyed him with slightly more interest. “You got cherry Coke?”  
  
Dean couldn’t help but snort. “Yeah, sure, man.”  
  
Sometimes Sam was such a fucking lameass. Not that Dean thought anything about Sam’s ass, lame or otherwise.  
  
“So, how about a drink?” He cleared his throat, pulling into the driveway of their modest A-frame. “C’mon, Sammy, live a little.” At the crack, Sam’s eyes narrowed as he got out of the car.  
  
Sam huffed and puffed over it – _“It’s illegal, Dean. You’re not even old enough”_ \- but he ended up drinking what Dean gave him, sucking the drops of rum and coke from his lips and swinging his legs from the kitchen counter where he’d parked his butt.  
  
Dean watched his brother’s eyes grow steadily more blurry, watched Sam’s movements become more and more lax as the effects of the alcohol loosened him right up. He almost had to laugh when Sam went into an overly descriptive story about something at school. Of course, Dean wasn’t paying any attention to it because he was trying to make sure Sam didn’t put his eye out with a flailing arm.  
  
“Sammy, you’re a cute lightweight,” he murmured when Sam finally came to a close long minutes later, flushed and sprawled back on the counter with glowing eyes. He reached out to take the drink away, but Sam cradled it close to his chest and sent Dean an equally irritated and smoldering look that had Dean swallowing hard.  
  
“M’not drunk,” Sam said, sliding down the counter onto wobbly feet. He lifted his glass in a toast that nearly spilled dark liquid down his shirt. “I’m…liberated.”  
  
“Great,” Dean drawled, like the sight of Sam as a sloppy drunk wasn’t doing things to his happy parts. He headed for the living room, calling over his shoulder, “Is this the part where you take off all of your clothes and burn your bra and all that shit? Heh.”  
  
The smile froze on his face when he turned back around to find Sam struggling with the button on his jeans. His shirt lay in a thrashed heap by his feet, revealing broad shoulders laden with ropy muscle.   
  
“What the fuck, Sam?” And Christ, was that _his_ voice? It sounded like someone had rubbed him raw against sandpaper.  
  
Sam looked up, grinning wide and loopy as he finally got his pants open. “Let’s do it, Dean,” he slurred, walking over and nearly tripping as his pants got caught around his ankles. “Let’s just fucking _do_ it.”  
  
Dean was pretty sure the lump in his throat was his heart. “Do what?” he asked, trying to appear nonchalant as Sam kicked the offending jeans off and looked back at him. “What do you wanna do, Sam?” He couldn’t hide the hopeful note in his voice.  
  
“Whatever we want.” Sam’s expression seemed both open and encouraging, and Dean took a long sip of his own drink.  
  
  
“I…think I wanna sleep,” he said, half-hating himself when Sam’s gaze dimmed. But this was wrong, it was all _wrong_ and he had to be _imagining_ the come-hither glint in his brother’s eyes. Without another thought, he headed up the stairs, tugging at his collar and muttering choice curses beneath his breath.  
  
He pretended to be asleep when Sam came in a few minutes later, making as much noise as he could before he flopped down onto the bed with a sigh. Even with his back to Sam, Dean could feel him staring, and squeezed his eyes shut. They stayed that way until the first quiet moan reached his ears.  
  
Dean went tense from head to toe, recognizing the provocative sounds and knowing exactly what they meant. Sam’s mattress was squeaking now, along with the breathless pants and softly uttered “Mmm…yeah.”  
  
“Yeah, Sammy, that’s it,” he whispered, urging his brother along in silent approval. His own fingers curled around his dick and he started to jerk off, quick and quiet, letting Sam’s vocal masturbation serve as a perverse soundtrack for the thrusts against his palm. He shifted a little when Sam went quiet, lifting his gaze and finding his brother fast asleep in his bed.  
  
Sam’s lips were spread wide and satisfied, and Dean came with a muffled groan before rolling over and staring at the wall.  
  
  
 

♥ ♥ ♥

  
  
  
Sam didn’t look at him the next day, just grabbed his forehead and grumbled every time Dean made some wisecrack about people who “just couldn’t hold their liquor”. Once he’d realized he was in the clear, that Sam didn’t seem to remember anything after the alcohol had gone to his head, he mocked a little bit harder. Sam was always such an easy target, and always responded exactly the way Dean expected.  
  
“You make a pretty drunk,” he purred when Sam got into the car later that afternoon, slinging his bookbag into the back of the Impala and ignoring Dean completely. “Oh, c’mon, Sam…I’m gonna let you drive.”  
  
Sam’s answer, as predicted, was a thrust of his open palm. Dean sighed and turned off the ignition, yanking out the keys and slapping them into Sam’s hand. Sam’s fingers tightened before he could pull away, and Dean found himself nearly nose to nose with his brother before he could blink.  
  
Sam didn’t seem to notice the way every muscle in Dean’s body went rigid with restrained want, just cocked a brow and said, “Thanks.” Then he let go, pushing open the door of the Impala while Dean sat there, staring dumbly.  
  
He knew it for the peace offering it was, and yet…there was something distinctly predatory about Sam’s actions, even if his expression had been anything but. He got out of the car, passing by his brother and watching him closely as Sam started the car and smiled smugly down at the wheel.  
  
The ride back was uneventful thanks to an automatic transmission and Sam letting Dean pick the radio station, but Dean couldn’t shake the feeling that last night he’d maybe put into motion something he might not be ready to deal with. This was compounded when he reached over and slapped Sam on the knee, congratulating him on a drive well done – “ _didn’t even run over any squirrels this time, Sam_ ” – and let his hand rest a minute longer than necessary. Sam’s throat worked, and he looked up and met Dean’s speculative stare with one of his own.   
  
  
 

♥ ♥ ♥

  
  
  
Dean had to wonder if this was some kind of punishment. Maybe for trying to corrupt his younger brother. For having dirty, nasty thoughts about him since the minute Sam had worked off his baby fat, packed on pounds of muscle and grown an extra three inches.  
  
He pulled harder on his cock, gritting his teeth against the groan that wanted to slip out from between them.  
  
And then there were Sam’s hands. The goddamn, motherfucking _hands_ that figured into every single one of Dean’s fantasies as of late. The gigantic paws that even now were threatening to drive Dean over the deep end. Because if this was really happening, then Dean was fucking screwed in just about every way.  
  
Sam shifted, naked shoulders catching the moonlight as his blankets slid lower, and Dean was confronted with the very real sight of Sam’s hand wrapped around his dick. And even if he could erase _that_ image from his mind, there was no mistaking the throaty, choked groans coming from Sam’s throat, the faint sound of flesh on flesh as Sam’s teeth sank into his lip. His lashes fluttered, then lifted to reveal sleep-sexy eyes trained directly on Dean.  
  
Every curse Dean knew, coupled with a few he made up on the spot, weighed heavy on his tongue, but the shock of being caught jerking off to the sight of his brother masturbating didn’t seem to register with his cock. The second Sam’s gaze slipped from Dean’s face, down lower to where Dean’s fingers squeezed himself tight, his hips jerked, fucking into fist with a long, steady stroke.  
  
_This is what you wanted_ , he reminded himself blindly, when Sam’s eyes went wide then settled back into bleary, dazed slits. But his brother didn’t turn away, didn’t call Dean out in justifiable disgust, just curled his own fingers tighter, touched his tongue to the corner of his mouth. Dean wondered what Sam might be thinking, catching a groan in the back of his throat as he let himself look at what Sam was so blatantly offering in the dark distance between them.  
  
All that golden skin, glowing and iridescent in the pale light and layered with new muscle and old scars. Dean’s fingers itched when Sam’s slid down the length of his cock, feeling the phantom weight heavy in his own hand. Sam spread his legs further apart, turning his face into the pillow and lifting his hips.  
  
“Fuck.” The oath came out breathy and helpless, and Dean worked himself harder while taking careful note of the way Sam touched himself. Whereas he usually went for speed and hard, rough care, Sam seemed to linger over every thrust…dragging his thumb over the swollen head and tickling the underside with his fingertips. At some point, he slowed, timing his strokes with Sam’s, and suddenly they were gaze-locked and moving together, perfectly matched whisper-soft groans echoing like gunshots in his head.  
  
When Sam’s lids went half-closed, mouth open and shiny-slick as he bucked his hips up and into his fist, Dean wondered hazily just who was really corrupting who here. He didn’t know what the hell Sam was thinking; his brother’s sultry gaze seemed clouded and filmy with emotions Dean couldn’t read, and wasn’t really sure he’d understand even if he could.  
  
Dean feared _he_ was a book, pulled wide open with colored pictures and diagrams that identified everything he was feeling and thinking. Whatever Sam might want to know was out there for him to see, and there was a part of Dean that resented that vulnerability. That wanted to run far and fast from whatever the hell was coloring Sam’s heavy-lashed gaze and making his brother palm himself harder and chew his lips like he was chasing after the taste of his favorite flavor.  
  
The other part of himself wanted to go over there, spread Sam’s thighs and hips and suck him off so deep and sweet that come morning there would be no fucking question between them anymore. The image of that, of his mouth wrapped around Sam’s cock while his brother’s hips jerked and rolled under the press of Dean’s hands, had him biting off around a frustrated groan.  
  
“Dean.” Sam’s voice was thick and slurred, and Dean’s thumb jerked in response, slipping over the slick head of his cock and ripping a quiet moan from his lips. When he met Sam’s gaze, his brother looked flushed and rosy. Pretty pink lips parted to breathe, “This is…this is okay, right?”  
  
It really wasn’t, but Dean kind of figured Sam knew that. His brother wasn’t asking about propriety, about whether or not this was normal or wrong or right, but if _Dean_ thought it was okay if they did it. Together.  
  
“Yeah,” he forced out, pumping faster and gripping the sheets with his free hand. Through slitted eyes he saw Sam roll over and completely face Dean as his fingers blurred over his cock and his breathing grew so loud it matched the rush of blood in Dean’s ears.  
  
For all that he’d been acting lately, Sam was still young and ready to snap on a dime, so Dean wasn’t all too surprised when a gasped curse split Sam’s lips a moment later. Pale arcs shot across his fingers and lower belly, and Dean let the forbidden sight and sounds wash over him. His eyes fell closed as he imagined licking the salt-bitter taste from Sam’s skin and grunting as the first sharp blast pulsed up and out of his own dick.  
  
When Dean reopened his eyes, Sam was staring at him, long fingers stroking idle patterns through the sticky streaks on his stomach. He swallowed hard, ignoring the question in Sam’s gaze. Yeah, he’d been the one to start this entire thing, but the gap between their beds had grown exponentially from the time he’d first wrapped his hand around his dick to the moment he’d come all over himself like a fucking thirteen year old with his first blistering orgasm.  
  
He wasn’t done with Sam, with _this_ \- not by a long shot. He just needed time to recover, regroup, and let everything sink in. So when Sam said his name again, husky and low and just _begging_ for Dean to look over and give in and make something of it, he closed his eyes and whispered, “Go to sleep, Sammy. S’okay.”  
  
  
 

♥ ♥ ♥

  
  
  
He woke up to cool air kissing his face and dry semen flaking on his belly. It caught under his nails when he scratched, his eyes flicking to Sam’s empty bed, and then Dean sucked in a breath as the night before rushed back into his brain and sent him reeling. His fingers curled into the sheets as he shoved up, eyeing the clock and cussing low and unsteady.  
  
He found Sam in the kitchen, calmly eating a bagel with cream cheese and gulping down the last bottle of orange juice. Sam's eyes followed him, a palpable weight, as he passed by on his way to the fridge, and Dean shivered a little in his bare skin and boxers. The coffee pot was flavoring the air with ground beans and the pansy-ass French vanilla creamer Sam insisted on buying before he finally mumbled, “If you wanna give the stick another try today, we could head out after lunch.”  
  
Sam’s answering shrug was noncommittal, dark pink lips pursed around the glass bottle, and Dean flinched when he caught himself staring at the slow curve of Sam’s smile. He spun around and scratched his shoulder blade, cheeks hot as he blew out a shaky breath and gripped the counter.  
  
“You okay, Dean?” Sam asked, and goddamn but his voice was everything innocent and shameless. Dean’s cock swelled at the memory of his brother’s large hands stroking and petting himself in the dark, completely at odds with the wide-eyed expression now coloring Sam’s features.  
  
Dean shut the fridge with one hand, forcing himself to walk over and grab the bread from the box just above Sam’s head. “I’m fine.” He sounded fine, anyway, and if Sam saw the press of Dean’s dick against his underwear, his brother decided not to mention it. Dean took longer than necessary to butter two slices of bread, growing distracted by the steady burn low in his back. He tossed a look over his shoulder, meeting Sam’s lidded gaze and faltering only a little with the knife.   
  
There was a loud scraping of chair across tile, and then heavy hands fell on his hips. Dean went still, feeling wet warmth low on his spine, and dropped the knife with a clatter and a curse. Sam’s grip tightened, one hand coming around Dean’s belly and pressing deep, and Dean swayed back on his heels as his eyes fell shut.  
  
“Sammy,” he managed around a tongue thickened by surprise and desire. “What’re you…”  
  
Sam shushed him with a light lick, dragging the slick tip of his tongue down just past where Dean’s back flared and rounded. “Dean, please,” he said, voice shot and thready. He pulled back and Dean turned around, staring down into blown-wide pupils and chewed-pink lips. Sam’s hopeful expression warred with the knowledge darkening his gaze. “Just… _let_ me, okay?”   
  
Dean’s breath caught. This is what he’d wanted; Sam begging, fucking _begging_. For _him._ There was a surreal sort of regret coursing through him, even as he tilted his hips and let Sam mouth his navel, wetting the short hairs below and tugging with his teeth as he made soft sounds of appreciation that had Dean’s knees knocking together.  
  
“Jesus,” he muttered, locking and spreading his legs, taking up two big handfuls of Sam’s hair and forcing Sam to look up at him. “Sam…”  
  
“I want to, I do,” Sam was saying, his words rolling over Dean’s in a mixture of frantic vowels and consonants. His thumbs hooked into faded cotton and pulled, eyes locking on Dean’s as the material slipped down Dean’s hips, catching briefly on his blood-hardened dick before dropping between his legs.   
  
There was a brief moment of silence as Dean’s cock hovered between them, flirting in Sam’s direction like it knew exactly what might happen. Dean hesitated a beat, torn between forcing Sam’s mouth down and shoving him back before they could cross a line there’d be no coming back from. It’d all seemed much simpler when he’d never really thought Sam was interested, but now…now Sam was licking his lips and flicking his gaze back and forth between Dean’s face and his dick.  
  
“You don’t have to—” Dean broke off when Sam reached a hand up, closing his fingers around Dean and tugging with surprising force. A rough, ragged sound left Dean’s throat, and he rocked into Sam’s fist, slack-jawed and heavy-eyed. “ _Fuck._ ”  
  
“You like it hard,” Sam murmured, cocking his head and sounding intrigued and pleased all at once. “I, um, after last night, I kind of thought you did.”  
  
“Why’s that?” Dean choked out stupidly.  
  
Sam’s lips spread into a smile, voice pitched low. “I watched.”  
  
“Oh, God.”  
  
Sam’s other hand was still around Dean’s hip, palming and rubbing and pulling him closer. His bangs fell across his eyes as he looked up from beneath his lashes. “Dean…Can I taste you? Is that okay?”  
  
Dean wasn’t really proud of what happened then, but he couldn’t stop the rush of come, not with Sam holding him there and tempting him with his fresh face and dirty words. His hips jerked on the initial burst, and then he was spilling across Sam’s fingertips with choked groans and apologies.  
  
“ _SamSammySam_ …” he keened, fingers tight in the unruly mop on Sam’s head. His chest worked like a bellows, sweat dampening his skin and drying in the morning chill.  
  
Sam stared at him for a beat, then brought his fingers up and Dean nearly staggered when Sam’s tongue came out to taste the bitter salt-slick. He wanted to yell, groan, _fuck_ , but then Sam was licking his mouth and making a considering sound Dean couldn’t make heads or tails of.  
  
He wasn’t aware he was waiting for approval or _whatever_ until Sam smacked his lips, eyes devious and dark. “Tastes like chicken,” he teased, voice deadpanned and even.  
  
Dean lost it when Sam grinned. He was on his knees before he even remembered moving, shouldering his way in between Sam’s thighs as his fingers worked at the waistband of Sam’s sweatpants. He relished the quick exhale from above. Glanced up and caught his brother’s lashes fluttering as he tugged on the heavy cotton and whispered, “C’mon, Sam. Lift up.”  
  
Sam did, hands falling on Dean’s shoulders and squeezing as he raised his hips and let Dean drag the sweats down his legs. “I wanted this…so long…thought you’d never…oh, _Dean._ You’re so fucking stupid,” he was babbling, and the nearly incoherent words fell on Dean’s ears like victory.  
  
“Easy,” he thought out loud, soothing Sam with slow, gentle strokes of his hands up and down the knotted muscle in Sam’s thighs. He found himself echoing Sam’s question, voice thrumming and excited. “This okay?”  
  
Sam blew out a laugh, knees spread wide and cock thick and flushed with young blood as he nodded and reached out to run blunt fingers through Dean’s hair. His eyes glittered, nearly full-black as he whispered, “Please.”  
  
Dean never had been able to resist giving Sam whatever he wanted.  
  
The first touch of his tongue had Sam jumping, and Dean had to pin his hips down when he moved to fully wrap his lips around Sam’s cock. His brother’s response was a guttural moan, followed by Dean’s name uttered soft and sweet. Sam was petting the back of his neck, slowly rocking his hips as best he could under the weight of Dean’s hands, shoulders slumped and body bent almost in half as his cheek pressed to the top of Dean’s head.  
  
Dean didn’t know what the fuck he was doing, but it didn’t seem to matter if he drooled too much or only got about halfway down Sam’s length before his throat closed up. Sam praised him so colorfully and vocally that once again, Dean had to wonder just how innocent his baby brother really was. He choked a bit when the words “Oh God, baby, right there” spilled out of his brother’s mouth, then pulled back and stared up at Sam in outraged amusement.  
  
“What the fuck, dude?” he asked, watching while Sam blinked lust-heavy lids and licked at his mouth.  
  
“Don’t stop.” Sam’s whisper was slurred, almost drunken, and he slid his fingers down Dean’s cheek to pull at his lips. His nostrils flared when Dean’s bottom lip caught on the pad of his thumb. “God, I fucking love your mouth.”  
  
Dean couldn’t hold back a growl, lowering his head and mouthing the crease of Sam’s thigh. He sank his teeth in lightly, hearing Sam curse and grip his hair so tightly it brought tears to Dean’s eyes. Then he let Sam guide his lips back, opening up and over his cock and sucking hard.   
  
Sam didn’t last long after that, fucking Dean’s mouth in hard, sloppy thrusts that Dean knew would make his jaw ache for days. But it was worth it – God, it was worth it – when Sam shuddered and spilled hot and briny down his throat. It burned from the inside out, dragging a groan up from the bottoms of his feet through the tips of his fingers.  
  
He pulled back, strings of spit and come still connecting his mouth to Sam’s dick, and his brother hissed a quiet curse beneath his breath as Dean swallowed and wiped his mouth. He couldn’t quite meet Sam’s eyes at first, staring down at a smudge on the floor as he immediately began to catalogue responses to every reaction Sam might possibly have. Then Sam was squeezing his shoulder, and Dean looked up from under his lashes, expression wide open and uncertain.  
  
“Dean…you…oh, _God._ ” Sam was panting furiously, flushed red and tousled. “That was…so fuckin’ _sexy_ , Dean.”  
  
Dean had to agree, even if he’d taken an unanticipated shot in the mouth. “You’re sixteen,” he pointed out instead, coming to his feet and pulling his shorts up his hips with a snap. “Doesn’t matter who it is, so long as you’re getting your dick sucked.”  
  
“No, it’s _you._ ”   
  
Sam’s expression was typically stubborn and frustrated, and Dean spared his brother a quick glance before raking his fingers through his hair and blowing out a breath. Now that it was all over, the haze of shame and guilt nearly choked him. Not for himself…blowing Sam would be something he’d never fucking forget or even _want_ to, but it wasn’t fair that he’d dragged Sam down into his sins, too.  
  
“Look…” he started, but was cut off when Sam stood, too…towering over Dean with dark eyes and flat lips. Dean had a moment to appreciate the long, lean line of Sam’s half-naked body before he felt himself backed up against the kitchen counter. “Um, heh. Sammy?”  
  
“Shut up for a minute.” Sam’s tone didn’t leave room for argument, so Dean shut up. That didn’t stop him from glaring daggers when Sam framed his face and brought their foreheads together. “Why are you so fucking difficult?”  
  
“Why are you so fucking skinny?” Dean returned, going for light and easy as he reached out and squeezed Sam’s bicep. He quirked a brow when his fingers met nothing but solid, lean muscle. “Huh. Guess those push-ups are working…I give.”  
  
Sam was smirking at him, hands resting on Dean’s hips and thumbs rubbing small circles. He broke out into a wide grin. “Took you long enough,” he purred on a low breath, and Dean was pretty sure they weren’t talking about Sam’s exercise regiment anymore.  
  
And when Sam dragged him forward, mouth open under his jaw, Dean figured it was more than time to admit to himself that maybe he just didn’t care. 


End file.
